Through Feline Eyes
by Magi Silverwolf
Summary: It started when Hermione made a mistake-she thought the kneazle hair was Millicent's and tried to use Polyjuice with it. Madam Pomfrey couldn't reverse it fully. That's how Hermione Granger found herself a cat-girl...and the Ministry has ruled that she is no longer a Being, but a creature. Now she and her friends will be faced with the big question: what does it mean to be human?
1. The End of the Beginning

**Disclaimer:** This story is based upon the Harry Potter series written by JK Rowling. No monetary compensation is being provided for the writing of this story. Any resemblance to stories other than the Harry Potter series is unintentional and pure coincidence.

**Canon Warning**: While this story is expected to follow a similar event timeline as the original series, certain aspects of the characters' situations have been changed and this has the potential of changing the events in the timeline. Also certain aspects of the universe itself are different from the books and interviews. They should be obvious and I will be using the fact that both Hermione and Harry are outsiders to the magical world to get explanations out there. If I miss any, feel free you let me know.

**Note from the Author**: This story deals with several topics which may not be appropriate for younger audiences. It will show the darker side of humanity and explores those aspects. You should expect mention of child abuse and neglect, human trafficking, various degrees of dubious consent, exploration of sexuality by minors, practices of various faiths, prejudice in its various forms, and violence. There might be more, but those are just what's in my outline currently.

One thing that I believe firmly is that there is no Black and White; that everything is a shade of gray. Thus "good" characters may display the same "bad" traits that they do in canon and "evil" characters may do "good" things. The human condition is vastly complicated. While I strive not to "bash" a character, there are times when a spade must be called a spade.

As an author, I ask for my readers and reviewers to bear in mind that while Rowling's work was meant for children, this story is not targeting the same age group. It will firmly deserve its rating. To the extent that parts of it will not be shown on this site. I will be posting the story in its entirety on Adult Fanfiction under the same name.

I trust my readers and reviewers to be respectful and not shocked about subject matter. Questions are okay, and even encouraged, and I promise to place more specific warnings on chapters with graphic details or notations where sections have been removed. Slander or ad hominem attacks will be reported. Flames will be used to roast marshmallows. Constructive criticism will be listened to even if it seems otherwise.

Through Feline Eyes is inspired by a challenge issued on the AFF forums. While the challenge focused upon the more carnal potential of Hermione's situation, this story will focus on the human side more, especially at first. I do have a partial outline and a few scenes planned, but they are all prior to fifth year. All requests and suggestions will be discussed between my "beta" (husband) and I and have the potential of becoming a part of this or even another story.

**Dedication:** This story is dedicated to the estimated 27 million men, women, and children who have had their humanity stolen from them for mere commercial gain while the rest of us pretend it doesn't affect us. We are One. We are Human.

Now the Story…

* * *

"Not everything that is faced can be changed. But nothing can be changed until it is faced." ~James Baldwin

**Chapter One: The End of the Beginning  
**

"I'm sorry," Professor McGonagall said and Harry had to admit that she certainly looked it. Though her features were set as sternly as ever, he had learned that the smaller details such as eyes were more important to reading someone's expressions and the Transfiguration teacher's eyes were filled with sorrow, resignation, and tears. Harry nodded at her to show that he understood what she had told him. Beside him, Ron gave an understanding smile. Unfortunately, his next words just proved to Harry just how much he did _not_ understand the situation.

"So she's gonna be a cat for the rest of her life? Wicked!"

Harry looked at Ron aghast that he would say such a thing after being told about Hermione's circumstances. Didn't Ron understand what it meant by Hermione was going to be sold at the end of the school year? Harry had nicked enough newspapers and magazines to know some of what happened to girls and women after they were sold. The thought that Hermione, bossy but nice Hermione, was going to become one of those slaves made Harry's stomach tighten dangerously. Harry felt an impotent anger coursing through him and Ron had unwittingly provided it a target.

"You're being a prat! Don't you realize what 'being sold' means? She'll be no better than a pet!"

"But, Harry—if she's a cat, then she is a pet," Ron protested, his face flushing in reactive anger. "I mean, she'll be like a house elf, wouldn't she? She might look a little like a person, but she's not really one. Think, Harry: she won't be able to bug us about homework anymore."

In that moment, Harry forgot to care that there was a professor in the room. He forgot that Ron was supposed to be one of his best friends and that he didn't have so many that he could afford to lose one. All he saw was someone like his uncle who would dismiss Harry as "just a freak", but Ron was far less intimidating than the much taller and broader (and not to mention fully grown if overweight) man. Harry saw Hermione beating herself with a lamp like Dobby had done when he visited Privet Drive before the start of the year for no other reason than talking bad about her owner and a foul taste filled his mouth as everything took on a red tinge. In that moment, Harry was angry, wanting nothing more than to lash out, and Ron just gave him the perfect target.

"Hermione does more than that, you berk! She's funny and smart! She gets this whole magic thing much more than I do."

"You know, you're right," Ron conceded, looking thoughtful, "I will miss her help on homework—"

Ron never got a chance to finish his sentence as he was forced to stumble backwards from the force of Harry's punch. Harry stood there, shocked at what he did—he knew better than to fight. He always came off the worse in a fight—well, maybe not always. He did win the one against Quirrell last year, after all, but Ron didn't have Voldemort sticking out of the back of his head. The boys stared at each other, both slowly paling. Harry had to consciously focus on unclench his fists. He could feel a slight moist feeling on his right hand and it ached from its contact with Ron's jaw.

"Ron, I'm—"

"Gone barmy, yeah, I gathered that. Listen, I'll—"

"No, you listen! Hermione has been a friend—a right good one, too, and I won't have you insulting her, Ron," Harry interrupted venomously. Later, when he wasn't quite so angry, he would reflect on the strangeness of his persistent anger, but right now, it clawed at his insides like a hungry beast. Despite the little voice that warned him not to push this, Harry couldn't let it go. It touched far too close to the spot that hurt whenever the Dursleys said something similar about him or about his parents. "She helps us with our homework because she cares, Ron, and I think you'd care just a bit more than what you're acting that she might be—that she might be—"

Harry didn't want to say it, as if by not saying it, it wouldn't ever happen. He knew the word, of course. The magazine hadn't defined it, but had said the word in a very matter of fact manner. He had used the big dictionary in the Surrey Library to find the definition. The librarian had been really upset when she had found him looking up that word and the others that related. She had adamantly explained the wrongness of it. Surely, Ron, with his loving parents, knew what would happen to the third part of their trio?

"Twenty points from Gryffindor for hitting another student," McGonagall said in the gap left by Harry's faltering over the possible future of Hermione. She sighed deeply before adding, "and ten points to Gryffindor for defending a friend in peril. Now, Misters Weasley and Potter, please return to your seats. The headmaster has managed to put off the Ministry until the end of the school year, so until then I want you to act as if nothing has changed and try to help Miss Granger adjust to the changes that she has undergone."

"Professor," Harry asked as he took his seat, "will Hermione really be auctioned to the highest bidder?"

"I'm afraid so, Mister Potter," the Scottish woman regretfully replied. Her brogue was thick in her dismay. Harry rubbed his left palm over the knuckles of his right hand to help ease the dull throbbing there. The throbbing in his heart would probably take much longer to heal. He glared at the ink well setting innocently on McGonagall's desk. The silence was tense as Harry screwed up his courage to ask the question that usually got the worse beatings from his aunt and uncle.

"Why?"

"I don't know, Mister Potter. Perhaps we'll never know fully, but I suspect that it has a lot to do with the policies of the Senior Undersecretary, a woman by the name of Dolores Umbridge. She feels—very strongly about those who are part magical creature."

"But she's not showing…um, you know…different instincts? Just the furriness?"

"Madam Pomfrey has gotten rid of most of the fur now. Miss Granger just has the tail and ears now. From what I've seen, she does not demonstrate any more of a cat's instincts than an animagus would."

"Then why, Professor? Why say she's not a person? She still thinks—she still feels. She still can do magic. Why pretend that she can't?"

"Oh, Mister Potter," the woman said with a deep sigh. "Why indeed?"

oO*Oo

Hermione had known when she erupted in fur after taking her portion of the Polyjuice that her life was about to change. Of course, her unfailing faith in authority had immediately assured her that everything would be alright. Madam Pomfrey would fix her in a trice. Surely there was something to be done.

But the foul-tasting flushing potion did not get rid of the tail or move her ears back from their perch atop her head. No matter how many flicks or swishes that the matron gave of her wand, Hermione's claws remained in place of her bitten nails. The complicated spell that took five full minutes to say did very little to the roughness of her tongue and the new shape of her pupils.

Madam Pomfrey had called in an accidental magic expert from St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries at that point and the whole useless process had repeated. The healers began experimenting. All they managed to affect was changing the colors of her cat features from matching Millicent Bulstrode's kneazle to being more in line with her natural coloring. Despite the lack of significant process, Hermione had not begun to be afraid until the expert had mentioned having to inform the Ministry of Magic about the situation. Even that would not have been frightening if Madam Pomfrey's reaction had not been practically begging for continued silence.

It was not until she met the dispassionate representative from the Control of Magical Creatures Department that Hermione truly began to worry. The man had been cold to the point of rudeness, and it only got worse after learning that her parents were muggles. He had explained to the headmaster, not to Hermione—that it was not as if a _real_ witch had been involved and that was why she could not be classified as a "being". It was in that conversation that she had learned what happened to "magical creatures" without that classification. They had to be taken care of by someone; someone had to be responsible for _it_. "Owned" was the word the representative had used. It reminded Hermione of her cousin's hunting dogs.

Even now, she felt sick at the memory of Dumbledore negotiating in the middle of the Hospital Wing with its too bright light and overly clean smell. Halfway through the byplay, Madam Pomfrey had left, pale and shaking. It was a sight as unnerving as hearing her future and possible uses discussed and argued in front of her. Hermione knew about the human trafficking that was still a problem in the muggle world—she was too well read not to be—but she had had the childish belief that with magic, there would not be those kinds of problems.

She knew better now, didn't she?

Hermione was pulled from her dark thoughts by the door to the infirmary opening. After a few moments, it shut again without anyone entering. She sighed, knowing who she was waiting for and knowing it was unreasonable to expect them. Madam Pomfrey had been keeping all visitors away and it was long after curfew anyroad. She startled when her bed dipped under the weight of an invisible person and promptly felt like smacking herself on the forehead.

"Harry?" she whispered instead. Harry responded by flicking his hood back so that his head appeared to be floating. He had a nervous smile on his face as if he wanted to reassure her, but was not certain how he'd be received.

"Hey, Hermione," he replied in a matching whisper. Harry looked over his shoulder towards the door to Madam Pomfrey's office as if expecting the formidable matron to burst forth at any moment. Finally, he looked back and pushed his glasses up his nose with a single finger. "I was not expecting you to still be up," he admitted. "You've always been the early to bed type before…"

"I haven't been sleeping really well lately," Hermione confessed. Her eyes prickled with tears and her ears laid back. Her light brown tail twitched restlessly. She swallowed hard around the lump in her throat.

"Hermione, I—I'm not smart like you are," Harry said haltingly. He seemed unsure of what he was saying but each word rang out and registered as important the same way her Uncle's Corey's had before his death and the way her father's voice was beginning to as well. "But what they are doing—it's _wrong_. I'll find a way to save you. I _promise_."

"Oh, Harry," Hermione choked out around a sob. The measure of control she had managed vanished like snow in August. Hope was far too painful right now. "How? It's impossible!"

"Magic," Harry answered more confidently. "Magic caused the problem. Magic can bloody well fix it!"

Hermione was freely crying then and did not even do a token scolding about his language. Harry shifted uncomfortably for a moment before he reached out and pulled the little witch into his arms. Awkwardly, he patted her back a few times before he settled into stroking the pajama-covered surface like one would a cat. That seemed more soothing to the distraught girl than the patting had been. It also helped to center Harry, allowing the stiffness to drain from his wiry form.

'_I promise,'_ he vowed silently. Neither child noticed the aged Head of Gryffindor watching from the doorway, tears running down her face.


	2. New Truths

"O sancta simplicitas!" ("Oh holy simplicity!") ~John Huss, last words before burning at the stake, July 6, 1415

Chapter Two: New Truths

Neville awoke with a start. He had a moment of disorientation before realizing that he was at Hogwarts, not Thistlewood Manor with Gran. It was a surreality to which he was accustomed. The first few nights he was at the school were always like that. Hogwarts was great, and he was thrilled to have enough magic to attend, but it was not _home_, like it was to his friend Harry. Well, maybe 'friend' was not the right word. They both studied with Hermione.

Hermione, who was currently in the Hospital Wing with feline features and, if rumors from the train were to be believed, was going to be sold at auction at the end of the year. He was going to ask Harry and Ron about it, but the two boys seemed to be having some kind of row and Neville didn't want to be drawn into it if he could help it.

A glint of light by the window caught his attention. Harry shifted his head slightly and the reflection of his glasses made the tiny ray of moon flight glittering in Neville's eyes shift as well. Curious about what could be keeping the Boy-Who-Lived up at—Neville checked the projection from the crystal clock that he got from Gran for Yule—three in the morning, the Longbottom heir got up and padded over to the window. Harry looked at him as he came close.

"Hey, Neville," the raven-haired boy greeted. "Trouble sleeping?"

"Not really…" Neville hesitated only a tiny moment before continuing. "How about you? How are you doing?"

Harry didn't answer immediately, but Neville could tell that he was giving the question serious thought. He just watched as the other boy gave a thoughtful frown. When Harry finally spoke, Neville was a bit surprised by the question.

"I was reading today about how certain families had a lot of holdings that belonged to the family and not the people in the family, but that doesn't make sense. How can a family own something but not a person?"

"Why were you reading about estate law? Wait…the library has books on estate law?"

"There's an entire legal section. It looks like it doesn't get used often. Madam Pince had to take me to it."

"Gran mustn't know about it," Neville replied as color drained from his face. "She'd start assigning me homework otherwise." The boy shuddered as was his wont before speaking of Professor Snape. Harry had a suspicion that his fellow lion was terrified of the…well, rather intimidating professor. Not that Harry blamed Neville. The only person that Snape seemed to hate worse than Neville was Harry himself. Before Harry could further pursue this line of thought, Neville was speaking again, this time less shaky. "So why are you reading law books?"

"It's for Hermione," Harry replied.

"So the rumor's true then? About Hermione being a creature?"

"Oh, not you too!"

"What did I say?"

Neville looked sincerely confused in the faint moonlight pouring through the window behind Harry. The Boy-Who-Lived took a deep centering breath, forcing down the helpless anger that seemed to be his constant companion for the last week of break. Neville wasn't the face of the Ministry, nor was he Ron, and yelling at the timid boy would just end up making Harry feel guilty later.

"You sounded like Ron there for a moment. Yes, she's now considered a creature, but does that really make her less of a person?"

"Ron said that?"

"Well, no," Harry admitted reluctantly. "He just made it sound like all she was good for was homework help—and that's not true! She's good for loads of things besides homework…" His voice fell off uncertainly. Harry asked himself the question that Ron had thrown at him the other day when they fought about Hermione's situation. What were those other things? He was so absorbed in his thoughts that he almost missed Neville's answer.

"You know he wouldn't necessarily recognize that, don't you? I mean, I know he's your friend and all, but he's…well, he's a bit thick at times."

Harry sighed. He did know this. It wasn't that Ron was stupid—he was far smarter than Dudley, after all. It was just that sometimes Ron didn't quite grasp things in their entirety immediately. There was a phrase that Aunt Petunia used for what Ron did: looking at the world through rose-colored glasses. Ron probably did not realize that there could be problems beyond who was going to help them with their homework. Harry snorted as the rage bubbled up again.

"They're gonna _sell _her, Neville. Whether Ron believes it to be 'wicked' or not won't matter! He said she was like a house elf—_a house elf_." Harry choked on a sound that may have been a sob or a battle cry. In his mind eye, he saw Dobby beating himself for speaking ill of his master. "I was visited by one this summer. He wanted to warn me of danger at Hogwarts, but kept beating himself. Again, I saw him after the Quidditch match. He told me that he ironed his hands and his master didn't notice because _he's always doing it_. Hermione…doesn't deserve that. No one deserves that."

"Harry, house elves…they need a bond with a master to survive. They need to feel useful. Gran says that their magic requires it—"

"That doesn't mean they're lesser! Just because they serve doesn't mean they aren't people!"

The words were shouted, practically spat across the small space between the two Gryffindors. The moonlight showed the stunned expression on Neville's face in amazing clarity. Guilt ate at Harry even though it had to war with anger to do so. Harry closed his eyes and leant against the icy glass of the window. Quietly and quickly, he counted to ten as he struggled to send the red-eyed beast back to its cage at the back of his mind. That little spot inside him that stayed at the Dursleys ached like a sore tooth.

"Harry," Neville whispered after he was sure that the other boy was calming and that Dean, Ron, and Seamus weren't going to wake up, "you are right, but—" He paused as Harry gave him a sharp look and those green eyes seemed to almost glow in the darkness. Neville swallowed once for courage before completing his sentence. "But not everyone sees things that way. A Jarvey talks and can even gesture like a person, but clearly isn't in the same class as a Being."

"Hermione said the man said she wasn't a being because she wasn't a real witch."

"Another common viewpoint," Neville admitted reluctantly. "She's a muggleborn and the Ministry…well, there's a lot of purebloods working there. We're mostly sheltered here at Hogwarts because of Dumbledore, but it becomes glaringly apparent at the functions that my Gran has what people think of those without magical beings in their family. _I know_ that Malfoy is full of bunk, but what he spouts is popular in some circles."

"It's disgusting, and wrong."

"You won't ever hear me deny that, Harry," Neville agreed, "but their arguments have merit in some things. There's a growing number of muggleborns being let into the magical world. Gran says that this is destroying our culture, especially with Magical Traditions no longer being taught at Hogwarts."

"That doesn't mean that Hermione should be sold as a slave!"

"No, it doesn't," Neville soothed like he was talking to a small child. Harry gave a sigh that seemed to come from the very tips of his toes. Was he being as childish as he had accused Ron of being? He mentally rolled his eyes. The answer was obvious, even to his slow mind. "Is this why you've been reading law books?"

"Well, yeah," Harry admitted. It seemed a bit foolish now, but his determination to do _something_ was almost all consuming. He didn't know how he was going to handle classes. "I've found out that I can't own her because I'm not the age of majority—whatever age that is in the Wizarding world—"

"Seventeen," Neville interrupted helpfully. Harry pointed at him as if in accusation of something.

"See! The books don't mention things like that! It just assumes that I know what the age of majority is or what the Magical Creature Act of 1586 or the Protection of Magical Culture Bill of 1968 says. Why would a bill affect law anyway?"

"Well, that bill in particular is He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's work."

"Wait, what? Voldemort had a bill?"

"He was a member of the Wizengamot back when my father was a child. Everybody knows this."

"No, they bloody well don't!"

"It's common knowledge; basic history, really."

"Basic history? All Binns goes on about is goblin rebellions!"

"Binns isn't the best teacher—the tutor I had during the summer was actually quite interesting."

"You get tutored during the summer? But I thought that we couldn't do magic…"

"Gran hates wasted time," Neville explained simply. The round-faced boy settled into the empty space on the wide window sill. He spoke in a matter of fact way that made it seem as the situation was obvious without the air of making someone seem stupid that Ron or Uncle Vernon would have had. "I have a long way to go to catch up with my father. Gran has been taking care of the estate and all, but she's not able to be heard on the floor of the Wizengamot despite being the House Regent. She just wants me to be prepared for when I must take my father's place."

"Neville…you just lost me. What estate? What's a house regent—that makes it sound like you're some kind of noble or something. What's the Wizengamot?"

Neville looked at Harry as if Harry was a new and interesting plant. Harry had seen that expression before on Hermione's face when she faced with a book she hadn't read before on a topic that she enjoyed. The thought of the bushy-haired witch distracted Harry for a moment. Neville's voice with its hint of good-natured laughter brought him back to the task on hand.

"A House Regent takes responsibility for a House while the Head of House can't and the Heir is unable or too young. The estate in question is the Longbottom estate which is all the property, including Wizengamot votes, of the House of Longbottom. Thistlewood Manor belongs to the Longbottom family, but my personal items, like, say, my robes, belong to me. It sounds like I'm some kind of noble because I am, or rather will be. I'm the next Lord Blackpool. I'll take over the comital when I turn twenty-one."

Neville said the title without his normal trace of timidity, and with the same tone that he used to recite information of which he was certain. It was very similar to how he answered Hermione's quiz questions on Herbology or Charms. Harry was mildly stunned by this. Where was the boy from last year that couldn't stand up to Malfoy? Neville must have read his expression because the boy hurried on as if worried about Harry's reaction to that news.

"Don't think that changes anything, Harry. It's just a title—well, not _just_ a title. There're duties that come along with it, as I'm sure you know, but really, right now, it's only a title. It doesn't make me better than anyone."

"I didn't know the wizarding world even had nobility. Do you have a Queen then, like the muggle world?"

"No…" Neville looked confused for a moment before continuing. "Not that I'm aware of, at least. All the other nobles are all a part of the Wizengamot which is headed by the Chief Warlock, who is appointed from the members. The Wizengamot is responsible for hearing cases, sentencing criminals, and making laws." Neville looked thoughtful for a moment. "I think I might have a couple of books on the subject, if you're interested."

"I wouldn't mind it. It seems very muddled. I don't think my idea for helping Hermione is going to work anymore. Can you have an estate and not be a 'lord'?" Harry only caught the confusion on Neville's face because he was watching the boy so closely. Neville looked like he was going to say something—he even opened his mouth to start it—but it appeared as if he thought better of it. He was quiet so long that Harry began to nervously pluck at a loose string on his handed down pajamas. Finally, the silence in which Harry was being studied became too much. "Neville?"

"Oh, um, yes, I mean, no," Neville answered after jolting badly at the sound of his name. "No, you can't, but I don't see why that matters—to helping Hermione, that is."

"Well, if I'm not a lord then I can't have an estate," Harry explained. There was a tightness in his chest, right above his heart. There had to be _something_ he could do. He had _promised_. He felt slightly queasy from the tension running through his small frame. There had to be something, _anything._ "If I don't have an estate, I can't buy Hermione because I can't participate in the auction until I'm seventeen."

"I…I don't understand," Neville said giving Harry that puzzled look again. "Don't you know?"

"Know what?" Harry spoke the words as the slight queasiness he was feeling thickened into a lump of dread. It was the same feeling he got whenever he spotted Dudley and his gang preparing for a game of Harry Hunting or when he had heard that Dumbledore had left the castle last year. It was the same feeling that accompanied him since escorting Hermione to the Hospital Wing on Christmas. Whatever Neville was about to say would forever change things, Harry knew.

"You're the last Potter, Harry," Neville said slowly, as if he was aware of Harry's nerves or perhaps as if he were explaining something that he expecting to be unnecessary. Harry's stomach twisted in anticipation. "You are the heir to at least three lines, one of which is a duchy."

And with those words, the bottom fell out beneath Harry's world. Things in Harry's mind shifted as if there was an earthquake. He shivered from a sudden cold. He could feel his lips moving, but they felt thick and unwieldy like the time he was forced to eat stinging nettle by Dudley. Feeling a bit dim, Harry could now recall references by Uncle Vernon to Harry's father being jobless. Hysteria bubbled up in his throat at the thought of the Dursleys. Would they care about the fact that it was magical nobility if they found out?

"Harry? _Harry_!"

Neville showed a quickness that Harry would never had accredited him with before then as he managed to jump away from Harry as he vomited. Fortunately, after the initial sickness, Harry felt better and, though he was still shaky and pale, was no longer cold. He could feel the moisture on his cheeks that must have come from either force-induced tears or the clammy sweat that covered his brow now. Neville blinked at him owlishly.

"Feeling better?" the other boy queried. Harry spat into the puddle of sick in response. Then he gave Neville a look that was a close cousin to a scowl. Neville rubbed the back of his head with one hand. "Right. Stupid question. You should look on the bright side, you know."

"Oh, and what's that?" Harry croaked.

"It does solve your problem with Hermione."

Harry had no answer to that that didn't sound particularly snarky. Though Harry knew Neville couldn't deduct points for cheek like Snape could, it wouldn't be fair to Neville to say exactly what was going through his head at this exact moment. It seemed as if it were Harry's destiny to discover huge secrets about himself or his family every few months or so. He had welcomed the knowledge of magic as an explanation of every unexplained thing that had ever happened to him and an escape route from the Dursleys who hated him.

'_What was next_,' he wondered in the privacy of his own mind. _'A prophecy?'_

oO*Oo

Author's Note: Ah, dramatic irony…gotta love it. ;)


	3. Truth within Confusion

"Tis the privilege of friendship to talk nonsense, and to have her nonsense respected." –Charles Lamb

Chapter Two: Truth within Confusion

"Harry?"

Harry heaved a sigh and turned towards the speaker. Classes had started this week, which meant that Madam Pomfrey had been forced to allow Harry to visit Hermione during the day so that he might give the witch her homework. It also meant that it has now been three weeks since the accident—two since Harry and Ron's falling out. The sight of Ron in the hallway leading away from the Hospital Wing made Harry a little sick and a lot angry, despite the fact that Ron wore the expression of downtrodden dog.

"Finally come to your senses?" Harry snapped. A part of him was sadistically gleeful at his first friend's wince, but the rest…the rest remembered Neville's reminder. It was just so bloody _hard_. Ron was his first friend. Hermione was his second and desperately needed him right now. He shouldn't have to choose between them.

"Yeah, about that…" Ron's voice trailed off as he lifted one hand to rub the back of his neck. The wizard looked sheepish, as he normally did after one of Hermione and his bickering matches. Harry felt another sigh filling him, this time one of relief. Perhaps he wouldn't have to choose. "I was complaining about things to Percy…I didn't realize, Harry. I honestly didn't."

Ron's expression was a bit more watery than Harry was used to from him. It was a bit of a surprise. Ron didn't cry, not about anything. He was strong and determined. Hermione was the crier of the three of them. But those blue eyes held a sheen to them as if he was about to weep. Harry had a spiteful thought that the Chudley Cannons must have lost another game before he flushed with shame. Luckily, Ron continued, either not noticing Harry's embarrassment or not caring.

"Percy said that she might be—"

"Yeah," Harry said, quickly cutting him off before he could actually say it. Ron looked distinctly greenish. It caused his freckles to appear darker. There was pain in his eyes that hadn't been there the last time they spoke to each other. Harry had seen a similar look in the librarian's eyes when she explained the words to him. Like a light being turned on, it dawned on Harry that this must be the look of crushed innocence. His friend had grown up, just a little bit.

"Harry, I didn't know," Ron repeated, desperate for understanding. Harry wanted to give him assurance that he was forgiven, but knew—_knew—_that it wasn't him that needed to forgive. He was not the hurt party here. So he hardened his heart to the shimmer in Ron's eyes and raised his chin. He took a fortifying breath and forced the words out.

"I'm not the one you should apologize to, Ron. Hermione was your friend and you've hurt her when she's already going through so much."

And then Harry forced himself to turn around and take the long way back to Gryffindor Tower, leaving Ron alone with his misery and useless words. Harry would have preferred to be facing down another troll. But his choice was clear. Between Ron and Hermione, he had to choose the one who needed him right now.

Knowing that did not make the choice any easier.

oO*Oo

Hermione stared down at the wand in her hand. The tight spiral of the wood around the core made it a bit knobby. She had always thought it gave the wand character. She could still remember the old wandmaker telling her that the wand chooses the witch. He had described it almost like the magical focus was a real thinking thing, a concept she had dismissed immediately. A wand was an object. Objects couldn't think. But now…now, she was rethinking that.

Ollivander claimed to remember every wand he ever sold. He certainly remembered Professor McGonagall's. Hermione wondered what it was like to remember meeting practically everyone in the wizarding world and their wands. Did he judge them by their wands? Was there a predictable way for a wand to pick their companion? What did her wand say about her?

"Loss of inhibitions and the loosening of the tongue," Hermione muttered, reciting a book she had read about magickal woods. It occurred to her that muggle witchcraft might be different, but there was already a lot of correlation between the two and in her current situation, any connection to the world she knew was a comfort. She turned the wand over in her hands, feeling the weight of its inherent magic. "Release of prophetic powers and the revealing of truths."

She considered the wand's core of dragon heartstring. Ollivander had told her that hers came from a Romanian Longhorn, a breed that she has since learned was growing endangered due to demand for its horns, which was used in potions. She wondered how the dragon had died. Ollivander hadn't known. Dragon heartstring was known as a powerful core that was prone to be temperamental.

Ollivander had described this particular wand as 'whippy' and 'good for both Charms and Transfiguration'. Oh, how the Deputy Headmistress had beamed at that comment. That smile was really the reason that Hermione put so much effort into her classes. Professor McGonagall had told Hermione that she expected great things from her, just because of her wand…the wand that had almost jumped into her hand. Ollivander had said that it reacted to her as soon as she entered the shop.

"The wand chooses the witch," she repeated as she ran her fingers from handle to tip, tracing every twist. The polished wood gleamed, its trademark wood grain making odd patterns on the wand's surface. If she didn't focus entirely, she could almost sense its purring response to her idle stroking. "The wand chooses the witch."

Hermione could remember the shock on her mother's face as Professor McGonagall had explained that all those little odd happenings were magic and then had demonstrated. She could remember the delight on Aunt Andy's face and the fierce hug that she gave Hermione for the same. Her father's transition from humorous disbelief to resigned relief was not forgotten either. It explained _so much_, even as it complicated their lives further than even Uncle Cory's death had the previous winter. All three had told her to let them worry about practicalities.

But Hogwarts had been so lonely. She was used to being the center of three adults' attention, or at least two after Uncle Cory had passed and her father had to take over the family responsibilities. True, she was used to not having friends and people jeering at her for one reason or the other. Aunt Andy had always told her that strength was measured in ignoring it all and rising above one's bullies. Hogwarts was only more difficult than primary because there was no comforting arms to hold her when it got really rough or sympathetic ears to listen to her adolescent woes. '_Be friendly and they'd eventually_ _respond_' had been her mother's words of comfort.

The troll changed everything, she admitted to herself. If it weren't for the troll, she'd never have become friends with Harry and Ron. If not for that friendship, she would have never made the Polyjuice Potion and wouldn't be in this pickle. The idea, once planted, refused to budge from her thoughts. It felt immensely disloyal, but it still wouldn't shake loose. Sometimes…sometimes, she wished she had stayed lonely. She had been much safer.

'_Grangers don't give up,'_ her father would tell her if he could hear her thoughts, '_and they don't blame others_.'

"The wand chooses the witch," Hermione repeated. She held the tip and handle of her wand between the index finger and thumb of either hand. Gripping the object like this, she could feel the magical current humming within the focus. Like a dim echo, she could feel the answering call to some nonphysical spot inside her. It was like a little tug…or the curious falling feeling she got whenever Harry gave her that shy perking of his lips that passed as his smile. Honestly, if she hadn't become Harry and Ron's friend, yes, she would have been safer and not a cat-girl, but also she wouldn't have—

"Hermione?"

She looked up, shocked to be pulled from her almost revelation. Her warm hazel eyes met Ron's sky blue ones. She had been in the Hospital Wing for coming up on four weeks now and after that first week, the youngest Weasley boy hadn't come to see her, despite Harry's nightly, and lately daily, trips. Even Neville had been to see her—he had started coming with Harry on the official trips to deliver homework. Truthfully, she had almost written off Ron, despite how much doing so had hurt her. Ron had a way of just…accepting…things that would shock or disgust her, and sometimes his temper ran away with him before he could think. He was just so…young.

"I…Hermione, I'm…."

She watched him fidget, still unable to comprehend what he was doing here. Under his tan, Ron looked pale. It gave him a peaky look that didn't fit him at all. He was standing at the foot of her bed, his left hand nervously rubbing his right elbow. His right hand was clenched and he was tapping it against his thigh in a pattern that belied his agitation. Hermione could not recall any other time when she had seen him so worried.

"Look, I'm sorry," he said in a rush of words that tumbled over each other. "I've been a right git and you'd be well shod of me. I've been incredibly stupid about this whole thing and as about supportive as a limp noodle. I don't know what I'd do if it had been me—Mum would probably run out of paper for the Howlers. Can you…do you think…maybe…that you can forgive me?"

Hermione looked at him as if she had never seen him before, as if he were perhaps some kind of new book. It occurred to her then that her days at Hogwarts were numbered. After June, she would no longer be able to be the friend she had so desperately craved. There would be no nagging about homework or research into whatever mystery was taking place with Harry at the center of it all. All that Harry would have left is Ron, who thought the great achievement of the world was Quidditch. It was January now. She had until June to forge her legacy…to be a _witch_.

"Of course, I do," she told Ron, even as she reeled from the revelation. It was just so clear to her now. Her place, the one that she had been so worried about in the last year and a half…it was different than she had originally thought it was. She had been so hungry for the approval of teachers, a true teacher's pet, but grades didn't matter in the situation, not as much as she had believed they had. "Ron, you have to help me."

"Anything," Ron replied, a bit dazed by her easy acquiescence to his plea. Usually their fights dragged on for days. That was time she couldn't afford now, not on this deadline. June loomed like a dark cloud now even as she heard Ollivander's words echoing in her mind like a powerful mantra. In quick words and a no-nonsense tone, she outlined her plan. Ron was confused at first, but soon was nodding along with her. When he left to go to dinner, Hermione found herself playing with her wand again. This time there were no doubts in her mind.

'_The wand chooses the witch,_' she thought, '_but the witch chooses the magic_.'

oO*Oo

Author's Note: Okay, I admit it…I got sucked into watching the Olympics. I'm not really one for sports, but I still got sucked in…that is my only excuse. Please forgive me?

Also, I would like to point out that Ron is a git as demonstrated several times in canon. As we see in the infamous epilogue, he stays a lazy git even after allegedly "growing up". But he's not grown up in this story. He's a bit of a pampered twelve-year-old at this point who's not been taught logic nor has he been exposed to the things that Harry and Hermione have. He's a child, a hot-headed child. JK has said in more than a few interviews that emotionally, Ron is the youngest of the Trio. He's also the insider of the group, but doesn't really have any drive to inform his friends about the "obvious" things unless he has to. He does have flaws, but usually manages to get his head out of his arse in time to recognize his mistakes. I will admit that he is perhaps my least favorite character after the Dursleys and Dumbledore. That being said, I will stand by my policy of not bashing anyone while still refusing to call a spade anything but a spade.

On a side note, as I was looking up quotes trying to find one for the chapter, I found the perfect one. Here it is:

"He must have known I'd want to leave you."  
"No, he must have known you would always want to come back."

To those readers who, like me, have been reading Fanfiction so long that they didn't immediately recognize this: it's a quote from _Deathly Hallows_. [lamenting] Why, oh, did I decide not to use book quotes for the chapter quotes on this fic? /whining

Well, thanks to all my reviewers and readers out there. Have a blessed day.

~Magi Silverwolf


	4. Old Truths in New Light

This chapter of _Through Feline Eyes_ is brought to you by the Facebook event _May We Write_ as well as a self-imposed writing challenge done in April.

oO*Oo

Neville and Harry were on their way back to the Tower from visiting Hermione when they heard the noise. For a moment, the pair stood frozen. Harry's heart ceased beating in anticipation of the chilling voice that had haunted him. He hadn't told Neville that he was hearing voices in connection to the attacks and a perverse part of him was curious whether Neville could handle the information. Neville seemed to be comfortable in his own skin concerning three topics: Herbology, Charms, and magical culture. Then the sounds filtering down the hall sorted themselves into rather colorful cursing and girlish sobs.

Careful not to be seen, the two Gryffindors peeked around the corner. Harry immediately recognized the corridor leading to Myrtle's bathroom. Filch was the source of the colorful cursing. The cause of his vexation was also rather plain. Myrtle had flooded the hall again. Harry ignored Neville's fidgeting as he waited for the caretaker to leave.

"Come on," Harry murmured after Filch had stomped off to get a mop to clean up. Neville didn't protest like Ron would have and Harry didn't feel as embarrassed by his curiosity. Myrtle's sobs were even louder once they were in the loo with the ghost. Hesitantly, Harry called out her name. The ghost shot out of the bend of her toilet, a dark gray flush upon her pale cheeks.

"What do you want? Come to throw something at me as well?"

"I…I was worried. Why would I throw something at you? Are you alright?"

Moaning Myrtle gave him a scrutinizing look as if she didn't quite believe him. Then the flush darkened and spread. She gave Harry a shy smile similar to the ones that she had given him while Hermione was brewing the Polyjuice potion.

"Oh, it was terrible," she assured Harry in a dramatic voice, "simply ghastly. Someone threw a book at me!"

It was on the tip of his tongue to remind her that she wouldn't be hurt by someone throwing a book, but Neville's lessons on tact saved him in time. Harry could imagine the kind of fit that Myrtle would pitch had he actually spoke the words. Flooded bathrooms would be the least of the problems she could cause. Instead, Harry made a noncommittal noise and posed a query about who threw it in the first place.

"Well, I don't know, do I? I was just sitting in the U-bend thinking about death, and it fell right through the top of my head! See—that's it over there. It got washed out…"

Harry looked where she was pointing. A small, thin book lay under a sink by the door. The cover was faux leather that had clearly seen better days. Water glistened and soaked its pages. Harry moved forward to pick it up for a closer look, only to be stilled by Neville grabbing the back of his robes.

"What?" asked Harry.

"I'm aware that you are muggle-raised, Harry," Neville said in the same tone he used when explaining a backward codicil of some ancient law, "but books can be dangerous."

"Dangerous?" Harry laughed, half expecting Neville to join him. "It's a _book_, Neville."

"Magic, remember?"

Harry looked at the soggy book lying on the floor. It certainly didn't look dangerous. He looked back at Neville and raised an eyebrow like he had seen someone on the telly do. Neville shook his head and pulled out his wand.

"There's a spell that checks for dark magic," Neville said as he raised the smooth wand. Harry bit back a snicker. It was usually Hermione that had a spell for everything. The idea of the shy and bumbling Neville knowing the necessary spell struck Harry as a bit funny. Neville appeared aware of his amusement for he gave Harry a half grin and shook his head again. "Alright, you've had your laugh. Now can I cast?"

"Sure, so I'll just…" Harry shuffled out of the way and watched as Neville waved his wand in a figure eight that ended with a sharp jab at the book and word that sounded closer to Gaelic than the Latin-ish of a normal spell. The book twitched as its outline grew blurry. Neville had a faintly surprised look on his round face.

"Huh," Neville said, "that's very…I've never seen that reaction before…"

"Have you tried the spell much?"

"Well, no, but…"

Neville looked at Harry. Harry could read the confusion on his friend's face. The last couple of weeks had really shone Harry another side to Neville, even if it was mostly spent in the library when Harry was not at Quidditch practice. There were times that Harry felt almost as close to Neville as he did to Ron. It was a strange feeling that Harry rarely thought about because of the fact that it made him feel uncomfortable. Neville's expression shifted under Harry's scrutinizing from surprised to wary.

"I think we should get a professor, Harry."

"What? Why? Because of a blurry outline?"

"Dangerous, Harry, remember?"

"Fine," Harry agreed reluctantly. It still had his misgivings about the seriousness of the situation. It was a _book_, after all. "Let's see what McGonagall says."

oO*Oo

Professor McGonagall was not alone in her office when Harry and Neville arrived. Percy was with her. Harry was tempted to describe this fact with words that Dudley and his gang used when there were no adults around to hear. Whatever the Head of Gryffindor and the Head Boy were talking about had obviously been rather important because Percy was looking like he did whenever Mrs. Weasley got onto him for stuff and Professor McGonagall looked about as happy as a wet cat. Even in his head, Harry groaned at the pun.

"What is it, Mr. Potter?" Professor McGonagall all but snapped. It was close though. Harry fought against the urge to flinch and stood straighter instead.

"We found this book, ma'am," Harry replied, "and Neville cast this spell to detect dark magic and the book got blurry—"

"Which spell did you use, Mr. Longbottom?"

Her clipped words broke no argument and Neville answered with only a small stutter. The professor immediately demanded the book. Neville seemed relieved to be rid of it despite the fact that he insisted to be the one who carried the dratted thing. Harry watched as Professor McGonagall repeated Neville's wand movements from earlier. This time Harry noticed that it was not so much a blur as it was a thin aura of the exact same color as the cover of the book.

Every trace of anger melted out of the Transfiguration professor's face and body. She dropped the book on her desk. The stern professor appeared to be generally worried as she turned on her heel, her wand moving even as her body twisted. A cat sprung from the tip of the wand, all aglow like moonlight and like moonlight, it was coolly comforting. It vaguely reminded Harry of the light that shone through the cracks around his cupboard door. McGonagall spoke sharply to the cat and it sped off without regard to walls or gravity.

"What was that? It was…" Harry couldn't come up with an adequate description for the silver tabby.

"That, Mr. Potter," McGonagall replied anyway, "is a Patronus."

"We're gonna learn that, right?" Harry asked eagerly. The thought of learning that spell…Harry didn't understand, but it made him happy in the same way that flying did. The idea was as interesting as the mystery of the Philosopher's Stone was last year. Professor McGonagall was watching him with an oddly indulgent expression on her face.

"The Patronus Charm is post N.E.W.T. level, Mr. Potter," she said. "It's not taught at Hogwarts at this time. Now, Mr. Weasley, please escort Mr. Potter and Mr. Longbottom to Gryffindor Tower and _please_ remember what we've discussed."

"Yes, professor," Percy replied before shuffling Harry and Neville out of her office obediently. No one spoke, but as they rounded the corner towards the moving staircases, they only narrowly avoided Professor Dumbledore who was wearing a robe reminiscent of a sunset over the Black Lake during winter. The headmaster gave their little group a sharp nod as he continued moving. Harry couldn't shake the feeling that something important had just happened.

oO*Oo

Madam Pomfrey ran out excuses to keep Hermione in the Hospital Wing a few days into February. Nervous and painfully aware of her new features, Hermione entered the Great Hall almost unnoticed. Harry saw her lingering inside the doors and waved her over with an enthusiastic grin. Screwing up her courage, Hermione made her way over to her friends. Her downward-tilted ears were the only sign of her agitation.

She nearly got up and ran away as the whispers spread throughout the Great Hall as people began to notice her sitting beside Harry. Ron got up from further down the table and slid into the free seat across from Neville who was on Harry's other side. _'Gryffindor,'_ she reminded herself. Her fingers curled into fists, the claws biting slightly into her palms. '_You're a Gryffindor, brave and true. You can do this. Remember the plan.'_

"Hi," Hermione greeted more evenly than she felt at the moment. Harry reached for her hand and gave it a brief squeeze of reassurance. Between that small gesture and a deep breath, she felt better about returning. She briefly met Ron's gaze before Lavender Brown caught her attention to discuss the latest Transfiguration essay. The conversation carried the small group out of the Great Hall where Lavender broke off to walk with Parvati up to Charms.

The following day was so steadily normal that some knotted feeling within Hermione loosened. There was a tension between Harry and Ron, a kind of stony silence that bespoke of a fight, but neither struck out at the other in her presence. She could tell that it was a near thing a couple of times. Strangely, Neville seemed to be the one holding back Harry. After one of the times, Hermione met the timid boy's gaze. He only gave her a slow nod in acknowledgement.

When the final class released, it was a relief. The tension between the boys could almost be tasted. As it was, the sense of danger in the air made her fur stand on end. That wouldn't be so bad if it didn't also affect her hair. Parkinson hadn't stopped sniggering since the start of Potions. When the bell finally sounded, Hermione wasted no time guiding their little group to the nearest empty classroom outside of Slytherin territory.

"Hermione," Harry remarked after the door closed behind Neville, "what's wrong?"

"Harry, we've been through a lot together," Hermione opened, the words making Harry's brow scrunch as he watched her begin to pace. The motion reminded him of the tiger in the zoo he went to for Dudley's eleventh birthday. He acknowledged her with a cautious nod. "We both know that You-Know-Who is not really gone. He's come after you twice now, once when you were a baby and once last year."

"I was only incidental last year—"

"You were only incidental when you were a baby as well," Hermione interrupted. Harry considered her words, a feeling of horrified shock filtering into his thoughts. She was right, of course. His parents had gone into hiding because Voldemort had wanted them to join him and they refused. Everyone knew that. His wide eyes met hers and she gave him a sharp nod. "So far your involvement has been happenstance…"

"But it won't always be that way," Harry finished. Hermione gave him another nod. Why hadn't he seen it before? It seemed so obvious now. "What can I do? I'm only twelve—I can't even do magic outside of Hogwarts yet. I barely know how to transfigure a guinea pig into a purse! There's no way that I can defeat Voldemort!"

"That's why we need to train," Ron said, finally joining the conversation. Neville nodded his agreement to the plan. Even Harry couldn't deny what Ron was saying. Hermione reached into her satchel. After a moment of rooting around in it, she pulled out a calendar book like the kind that Harry's aunt kept on the desk in the parlor.

"I have drawn up a schedule. It will mean a great deal of work, but if we study hard, I believe that we can work ahead with no problem," she told the boys. Harry glanced at Ron, only to find that he didn't looked surprised by this announcement.

"I'm not gonna whine about it," Ron said sheepishly, noticing Harry's look. Harry could not keep the surprise from his face. "I'm really not. Hermione explained about her plan days ago when I apologized for being such a thick-headed git."

"You apologized?"

When Ron replied to Harry's question with a nod, Harry broke into a wide grin. Ron returned the grin in full measure. Just like that, their argument was settled. If Hermione could accept it, then it was good enough for Harry. Hermione recalled their focus as she began to explain her schedule. It was almost like normal again.

_Almost_.

oO*Oo

Author's Note: So life has been chaotic, to say the least. I actually have more written on this project as well as _Schrodinger's Effect_, but it's all in scattered scenes from various places throughout the story. I'm working now to write the connective pieces, as well as focusing on editing some of my previous pieces. I'm still debating how I'm going to be posting those. I know my current project is already differing from the original by a very large degree. So replace or post as separate? Any thoughts?

I'm also thinking of starting a story that is just collected scenes that do not fit anywhere or belong to stories that will most likely never be written. Would that be something in which y'all are interested?

Well, off to make coffee. Happy reading!

~Magi


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